


Beautifully Terrifying

by gothamcitysyren



Category: Swamp Thing (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2020-07-10 15:45:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19908193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothamcitysyren/pseuds/gothamcitysyren
Summary: After over a decade away, Rebecca Sunderland returns home to Marais, Louisiana, in an effort to heal her grieving mother. Becca works for her father as a means to continue her research as a botanist and, in doing so, meets disgraced scientist Alec Holland. Holland, convinced Becca’s father is up to no good in the swamp, enlists Becca’s help to find out the truth. Little did either of them know just how beautifully terrifying the path to answers would be.





	1. Prologue;

It's been just over a decade since I last stepped foot in Marais, Louisiana. The small swamp town never had enough room for me—or anyone with aspirations, really. I packed up and got on a plane the moment after I graduated high school.

So why, you ask, would I go back?

I asked myself the same question the night my father called. It was the first time in over a year he'd done so. A feeling in my gut told me there had to be something really wrong for him to reach out, especially late at night.

When I answered his call, he sounded worn. Worn and tired. Still, there was relief in his voice when he spoke, "I'm truly sorry for the late hour, I wouldn't have called if it wasn't important. I gotta say, I wasn't sure you'd answer."

"It's alright. What's wrong?" I questioned, an ounce of worry in my gut. My fingers tightened and loosened their grip on the comforter draped over my body impatiently.

"It's your mother. She hasn't come out of Shawna's room in three days," he explained. "I try to get her to eat but she just won't snap out of it."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, refraining from a heavy sigh, "Has she been taking her antidepressants?"

"I'm not sure. Probably not, with how she's acting."

"Okay...well...there isn't much I can do, dad. I can call her tomorrow morning, but you know how hard it is to communicate when she gets like this-"

"You see, that's just it," he interrupted, sounding hopeful. "That's why I called. I was hoping I'd be able to convince you to visit. She misses you, Becca, we both do. Maybe having you around a couple days would lift her spirits?"

Now I really did sigh. It was hard not to feel trapped, and that was the point. He'd boxed me in so that I couldn't possibly decline without breaking both their hearts. That was just how he functioned. And, for a while, I'd gotten used to living without it.

But just one taste of it was all it took to bring me right back to the days I lived at home. I was still frustrated with the situation, but I was more easily persuaded to agree.

"Alright…" I exhaled, trying to let some stress out. "I'll get on the first flight home."

"Thank you- thank you so much, Becca. I'll get your room ready for you."

I quickly replied, "No, that's okay. I'll get my own place. Somewhere less depressing."

"Oh, alright then...I guess I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, sweet bee."

Sweet bee. He hadn't called me that since before Shawna died. Of course, losing your first child can do unspeakable things to a person. Such as neglecting the child you still have to the point they feel unloved.

I didn't know how to feel, hearing that nickname again. But I said goodnight and hung up the phone, and then booked a flight to Louisiana before sleeping for what was left of the night.

* * *

It wasn't hard to find a place to stay for the week. All I had to do was contact an old friend that still owns property in the area and explain the situation, which I could do on the plane. So I did. My father wanted to pick me up at the airport and take me to breakfast.

The idea wasn't so bad, but I didn't know if I could stomach spending that much time with him in person after all these years. Still, a small voice in my head said I was going whether I liked it or not. He invited me to breakfast—I was going to breakfast.

I didn't have a choice. I never did. Not when it came to him.

Sure enough, dad was waiting for me with a car when I landed. He held out his arms to hug me, expecting me to walk right in. After all, he had no reason to think I wouldn't. It wasn't like he knew how much he'd hurt me.

So I did it—I walked into his arms and gave him a hug, forcing my lips to make a smile with every ounce of will in my body. I had to put on a show and make him believe I was still the Becca that hugged him goodbye, the last time we were at the airport together.

When I pulled away from him, I truly noticed just how much his tired voice matched his features. He looked much older than I was prepared to see and, for a second, I forgot every emotion but sympathy. And then he opened his mouth.

"Ah, there's my girl- look at you! You're all grown up, aren't you?" he commented, with a bright smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Here, let me get that bag for you."

His hand dove forward and took the suitcase handle from my grip before I could protest if I wanted to. Though, I knew better than to argue. The faster I played along, the faster I could get away. Some things never change, I guess.

"Thanks," I kept the smile up.

"So, how is California? We haven't talked as much as I'd like," he said, as he moved to put my suitcase in the backseat of the car.

I nodded a little, inhaling, "It's been great, actually. I'm making significant progress with my research-"

"That's wonderful, honey," he smiled at me, shutting the car door. "You hungry? I thought I'd make you those strawberry pancakes you used to like, like old times."

"Oh...yeah, sure. That sounds good."

He nodded once and walked around to the driver's side of the car, sliding into the seat behind the wheel without a second thought. A heavy exhale escaped my lips in an attempt to release the frustration I could already feel building.

The last thing I needed was to come here and make everything worse. It didn't really come to me that we'd be going straight to the house until I got in the car. A sharp pang of anxiety hit my chest upon the realization, and I gripped my seat belt until the knuckles turned white.

I wasn't fond of that house. It seemed like every time I was in it, I got sick. Sick to my stomach. Whether it be with grief or some other sinister emotion, I hated having to feel that way. Everywhere you go in the house feels like you're being scrutinized.

Mom wandering around looking for reasons to nit pick and complain, dad somehow always aware of what was going on in every room. For a while after Shawna died, I could've sworn I felt someone's eyes when I walked by the staircase.

I could hear whispers in my room, the room right next to Shawna's, the one mom refuses to leave. It was always hard to tell if it was mom whispering or someone else. When I still lived there, I tried telling my dad about it, but he told me I just missed my sister.

At the time, I was angry he thought I was making it up. Looking back on it, I was glad he didn't indulge it. Any more reality to those weird happenings would've kept me awake at night for months. Lord knows I was sensitive. In some ways, I still am.

Dad talked the whole way to the house. He caught me up on what had been happening around town since I left. For once I didn't mind hearing his voice—it kept me from thinking too much. It kept me out of my head.

We pulled into the driveway and I was sucked right back into that headspace. The sight of the house alone was enough to thoroughly sour my stomach, and I found myself swallowing repeatedly to force it all down.

"I figure we'll eat some pancakes and then we can get you situated," dad said, completely unaware of my apprehension as he put the vehicle in park just below the steps.

Nodding, I quickly maneuvered out of my seat belt and forced open my door, in desperate need of fresh air. Instead, all I received was a gust of swamp musk. "Okay," I replied, a bit hesitant to attempt speaking. "Sounds good."

He nodded in return and opened his door, still all smiles—oblivious. In a split second flash, a thought crossed my mind. Almost a realization. Immediately, I turned and put my hand on the side of his shoulder. The contact caused him to pause with a quizzical expression aimed at me.

I didn't know if I'd be able to say the true words I intended out loud. So I settled for something a bit more sugar-coated. "Mom hasn't been...talking to anyone, has she? Other than her therapist?" I inquired, cautiously.

"I don't recall, no," he shook his head curiously.

"Okay."

"Are you alright, honey? You look a little green."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just getting used to the swamp air again. It's a little ripe," I chuckled a bit to divert the conversation.

He bought it. Chuckling, he continued to get out of the car, shutting his door behind him. I took a few extra moments to ease myself off the seat. At this point it was hard to tell just what was making me sick—the threat of experiencing such nightmarish things again or truly the swamp.

I closed the car door before continuing up to the front porch, where dad had just stopped to wait. He opened the front door and held it for me as I reached the top of the steps. "Welcome home," he smiled at me.

This place hadn't been home for many years. So much has happened since I last ventured inside, it seemed so odd to inhabit this space again. But, with a deep breath, I walked into the house and stood just three feet inside.

It didn't feel like I had expected, but the feeling I had was not positive either. The air felt heavier, thicker, and my nausea persisted even as I made my way to the kitchen.

Dad went first into the unnecessarily lavish kitchen, and I trailed behind as my feet shuffled across the wood flooring. I did that a lot as a child. It was usually how mom knew when I was in bad spirits.

She'd hear me shuffling around in a stressed huff and make some cocoa, then bring me a mug when I finally found a place to drop—typically in the study where I could be alone. I didn't mind her intrusions. Not really.

Wherever I went in the house, I felt a pair of eyes. Only in the study did I not feel anything at all. "So, how are relationships these days? Any new friends?" dad inquired, pulling me from my thoughts.

I shook my head slowly as I pulled myself into a stool behind the counter, "Not really, no."

"How's David? You two still talk?"

"We haven't talked since I moved out," I replied, folding my arms atop each other on the cold surface of the counter.

Dad twisted to see me from the cupboard beside the stove, his brow furrowed in confusion. "You moved?" he questioned, perplexed.

"Yeah. I called, remember?" I answered, gently. "They needed me at another facility."

"Oh...that does sound familiar."

He turned back to the cupboard and pulled out a few things, and I let my eyes wander around the room. It looked exactly the same as before I left. Virtually nothing had changed. It was a contrast to just how much I'd changed.

Though I didn't truly have to, I wondered where mom was. It brought my mind back to Shawna. Mom was in her room right now—after all, that's why I was even in the house. I would have to go in there to converse with her.

Years ago, I'd gone into Shawna's room a short while after her passing. It was a mistake. Seeing a place that was once her space, every corner of the room covered in her personality, without her in it was devastating. The things were there, but they no longer reflected her light.

Mom kept the room exactly how Shawna left it—she didn't even make the bed. Everything was untouched. For a while, it was like Shawna was still around and, in some ways, it helped me wrestle with the idea that she was gone.

After a while, it became overbearing. It was obnoxious and irritating and it felt like we were hanging on for too long. Like maybe those eyes watching me were Shawna's impatient eye roll. I could almost hear her frustration with creak of the floorboards.

I tried telling mom it was time to start letting go, that it's what Shawna would've wanted. That was the night everything changed for us. Things were said that can never be unheard, sharp sentiments left deep wounds I was sure remained open to this day.

Never again did I enter Shawna's room or walk up those stairs. Never again did I look my mother in the eye. Instead, I finished my school year in the guest room, only talking to dad when necessary, and left for college immediately after graduation.

"I see you're still wearing that bee around your neck," dad's attempt at small talk pulled me from my thoughts, but it did not banish the unease left behind. "That the one Shawna gave you?"

Nodding, my fingers touched the black and yellow pendant where it hung against my collar bones, "Yeah."

He poured some batter into the pan he'd heated on the stove and then set the bowl aside, before turning around to smile at me. "She would be real proud of you, you know," he told me. "You've turned into quite the accomplished young woman."

"Well, Shawna did love the swamp," I smiled a little, forcing my teeth to show.

"That she did."

"Have you heard from Abby lately?"

He shook his head, a sudden droop to his features, "No...no, uh, she hasn't spoken to us since she left town years ago. Do you two still keep in contact?"

"We haven't talked in a long time. I think she's just really busy," I replied, absentmindedly pulling the little bee in my fingers left to right on its chain.

I used to do that when I was younger, when something was on my mind. Shawna was the only one that picked up on it and I never would've known I was doing it had she not pointed it out. It was true that I hadn't spoken to Abby in a long time.

But the reasoning was very off. I stopped returning her calls over a year ago. She'd kept in contact with me after leaving Marais after high school, and she'd check in with me to see how I was doing and what new things were happening in my life.

It was something I really appreciated and I cherished those occasional phone calls when I got to hear a familiar voice. But, at a certain point, I'd run out of anything but sadness to give, so I stopped picking up. I couldn't stomach it anymore.

Knowing it must've hurt her when I didn't answer anymore only worsened my depression at the time, yet I kept remaining silent. There was nothing to say, I supposed. "Well, I, uh-" dad cleared his throat as he faced the stove once more, checking the batter. "-I figure if you'd like to continue your research while you're in town, I have a place on the swamp that would be perfect for you."

Considering he hadn't listened to what I was working on to begin with, it was a bit surprising he'd make such an offer. I sat up a bit in my seat, intrigued. "Oh. That would be great, actually," I spoke quickly, before he could change the subject.

"I'll take you down there after we get you settled in this afternoon, then. That sound alright?"

I nodded, "Yeah, sounds good."

Then, from upstairs, a hard thud rattled the glass cabinets of the kitchen. A feminine sound followed, but it was too muffled to decipher. The thud had shoved my heart into my throat, but I didn't think much before diving out of my chair.

My feet carried me quickly from the kitchen and down the hall to the stairs, my fingers gripping the banister tightly to skid around the corner and start up the staircase. "Mom?" I called out, worry suddenly pouring into my gut with no sign of stopping. "Mom! You okay?"

"Rebecca, wait!" dad called after me, just leaving the kitchen.

Against reason, I kept going. All I knew was that my mother could've hurt herself and I needed to make sure she was alright. I would be able to relax and listen properly when I knew she was okay. So I pushed open Shawna's bedroom door and stepped inside.

There she was, my mother, her knees against the wood flooring as her hands scrambled quickly to pick up the pieces of a broken frame. The frame was cracked on the corner with its glass shattered, laying just to the side of her.

It wasn't the emergency I was expecting, but I still rushed forward and dropped to my knees, quick to help her pick up the pieces so she would not get hurt on the glass. "Are you okay?" I asked her, sporadically glancing up from the floor. "Did you cut yourself?"

Only then did she look up from the mess of broken glass, and her eyes blinked a few times in surprise. "Rebecca?" she questioned, in disbelief. "Honey...is that really you?"

I nodded, speaking gently, "Yeah, mom, it's me. I came to see you."

"Oh, honey."

Mom dropped the few pieces of glass in her hands and instead threw her arms around my shoulders. The glass tinked against the wood as she squeezed me tightly. I put down the glass I'd collected as carefully as I could given my position and put my arms around her middle.

"I've missed you so much," she spoke quietly. "It's been so long...w-what made you want to come home?"

"Dad called me, he said you weren't feeling well. I wanted to make sure you were alright," I answered, as she pulled away from me.

She sat back on her legs and tilted her head in a momentary expression before leaning forward to continue picking up the glass, "Oh, sweetheart, I wish you wouldn't have come all this way just for me. I know that research job's got you busy-"

"Mom," I reached forward and loosely wrapped my fingers around her wrists, only sliding them into her palms once she'd stopped moving. Her saddened eyes shifted up to meet mine, and I told her, "The research can wait. Your health can't. Let me clean this up, okay?"

Hesitantly, she nodded a little. I continued picking up the glass as she stood and stepped into the open bathroom, carefully plucking the larger pieces with the intent of gathering the smaller shards in a dust pan. "I have to check on breakfast—are you okay here cleaning this up?" dad asked, from the doorway behind me.

"Yeah, I'm good," I replied, with a quick glance over my shoulder.

He nodded, "Alright then."

The sound of his footsteps was soon drowned out by running water, mom starting a bath in the bathroom not too far away. My fingers cherry-picked the large pieces and then I sat back. I had every intention of getting up, throwing away the pieces, and coming back for the rest.

But something caught my eye and, when I saw it, I couldn't look away. It was the likeness of Shawna reflected in the standing mirror on the opposite side of the bed. The glass was aimed in my direction, putting her in perfect view.

My heart rate once again spiked with adrenaline. This time to the point of almost being frozen still. Instinctively, I twisted my torso so look behind me. There was no one. I looked back to the mirror and Shawna was gone—leaving a sour twist in the pit of my stomach in her place.


	2. 1: before the bridge

“It's not that I don't like oranges, I just can't stand drinking something with floaties in it," I explained, as I pulled open my car door.

Liz gave me a skeptical look from across the hood, opening her door as well, "Mm hm. Sure you can't."

"It feels like swallowing a bunch of bugs that landed in my drink."

I didn't even remember how we got on this topic of conversation when I pulled on my seatbelt. After all, the last couple of weeks had been a bit of a blur. Dad asked me to stay a few days. A few days turned into a few weeks.

My research was coming along better with access to the swamp and mom appeared to be on the mend. Why would I leave? I didn't have much of a life outside of work in California anyway. Here, at least I could find solace in my lab and spend time with friends and family. I abhorred the idea when I first arrived. But after having access to a support system, I didn't want to let go of it.

Liz and I reconnected shortly after I returned to Marais. She was closer with Abby than with me, but we can connect on a lack of communication with her. And a few other things. We'd been out to lunch together when dad called and asked to have an important conversation with me at the house. I didn't know the specifics but, as usual, I agreed. After all, Liz and I were on our way home anyway.

“Do you mind dropping me off at the bar?” Liz asked, as we drove away from the curb. “I know it’s a bit out of your way.”

I shook my head, “No, that’s okay. It’s not that far. I haven’t seen the place in ages, anyway.”

“Hey, you should come down tonight for a drink. I’ll tell Matt you’re coming—it’ll be like old times.”

A nervous chuckle escaped my throat at the notion. Then again, that was always my body’s reaction to the mention of Matthew Cable. He had eyes for Abby—but that didn’t stop me from drooling over him with my friends. Of course, that was many years ago. He wasn’t someone I’d kept in contact with. Liz briefly mentioned over lunch that he’d become a police officer. But I knew nothing about him anymore. And I didn’t need another excuse to let a male into my life.

The last time I did that ended with me moving out of my apartment and transferring to a new facility. It didn’t have to end so roughly but, at the time, I didn’t see any possible way to live in that same space and not see him over every inch of it. I’d zoned out in thought for a moment, coming back only when Liz kept talking. We arrived at Delroy’s and I parked in a space near the door. The building looked almost exactly how it did before I left.

Of course, I rarely came out this way thanks to my house being on the other side of town. But I never minded the commute. Liz unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for her door handle, “Thanks for lunch, Becca. It’s so good to talk to you again.”

“Likewise. I missed you,” I replied, with a warm smile.

To be truthful, I’d rarely thought about the people of Marais while being in California. Though being here did show me how much I needed to come back. “Remember—come by tonight,” Liz pointed a finger at me, before sliding out of the car. “No exceptions. None of that ‘i’m working’ bullshit. Okay? You’re going.”

Chuckling, I said, “Okay, okay. I’ll see you tonight.”

She smiled knowingly and shut her door. I watched her walk away for a moment before putting the car in reverse. These times were good for me. For me, and for my research. I could think better, I could work better, when I had some kind of social outlet. You can’t help but isolate yourself a little with my line of work.

On my way to my parent’s house, I decided to go over the bridge. There weren’t many opportunities to see it since being back. On one hand, that was a good thing. I lost my sister on that bridge—more specifically, just below it, in the river. On the other hand, I found more solace in visiting the bridge than I ever did her headstone. Maybe I knew, deep down, that she wasn’t really buried there? There was never a body. 

The last place Shawna existed was in that river. It gave me a tie to her that I could tighten and loosen without getting too close. I could visit her from a safe distance. I could see the bridge not too far down the road, getting closer by the second, when a loud sound followed a thrust that shook the car. It startled me, causing me to grip the wheel and lurch in my seat. 

The slapping and low thumping alerted me to the reason—a flat tire. I sank behind the wheel, loosening my grip as I sighed. That was just what I needed. I had time to take Liz home and drive slow across the bridge before I said I’d be at the house. But this would only further keep me, and dad would undoubtedly be upset with my lateness. Frustrated and high on remaining adrenaline from the surprise, I rolled to the bridge and pulled to the side of the road just before it. 

Immediately I cut the engine and slid out of the car, slamming my door a bit behind me. I’ve changed flat tires before. Being the person I am, I always kept the equipment to change it myself in the trunk. Something Shawna taught me all those years ago. She did the same, keeping the tools to do it herself so dad never knew. Just a little secret between the two of us.

We kept a lot of secrets. Shawna would treat each one like it was a game, seeing who could hold their tongue the longest. I never blabbed and neither did she. That rivalry followed her to her death, all those secrets resting only with me now. I refused to let go of them. I guessed it was my way of holding onto her instead of hoarding her possessions like my mother. 

After opening the trunk, I pulled out the jack. I’d just hefted it out when the distinct sound of tires on the pavement slowly increased from somewhere behind me. It caused me to glance over my shoulder, looking briefly for the source. I’d expected someone to pull over and ask if I needed help. Most people around here were always ready to help each other out. It was nice, but in times like this I found it annoying. When I looked over my shoulder, I caught a glimpse of a charcoal Toyota now parked a bit behind me. A man was getting out of the back seat as I looked away.

Despite this, I continued to the rear left tire, setting my eyes on the blown rubber. This wasn’t even my car. It belonged to the nice couple I housesat for, but they’d given me permission to drive it while they were out of town. It made me feel bad for needing to use their spare. What are the odds? The one time they loan out their car, it blows a tire? Exhaling heavily, I squatted and slid the jack in place beneath the car. 

“Hey,” a male voice came from my right. “Uh, need a hand?”

“Thanks, I got it,” I shook my head, pumping the jack.

“Good. I don’t know how to change a tire.”

My muscles took pause, and I craned my neck to see who I was talking to. It was a tall man with black hair that curled behind his ears and tan skin, no one I’d ever seen before. Not someone that looked to be from this town either. He was too clean, too neat. Squinting against the sun, I tilted my head, “Then why’d you ask?”

“I don’t know, I just wanted to be nice,” he shrugged casually, hands in his pockets.

With a roll of my eyes, I turned back to the tire, finishing up with the jack. As I stood to get the lug wrench, I gave him a slightly irritated look. “Do you mind?”

It took him a split second to get the hint. When he did, he stepped aside with a small nod, and I continued around to the trunk. “I’m Holland, by the way. Alec...Holland,” he said, sidling up to the back of the car. I reached into the trunk and retrieved the wrench, then gripped the spare and began hefting it from the vehicle. The idea of having to chat with someone while trying to hurry up and get on my way wasn’t the most exciting thing. It almost irritated me more than the flat tire itself.

Taking a deep breath, I replied, “Becca. You from around here?”

There was no need to ask, but he was obviously not going away until I was done. It seemed like the proper response. “God, no,” he answered, as I leaned the tire against the side of the car.

“Didn’t think so.”

I squated again in front of the tire and began loosening the lug nuts on the flat with the wrench. Having not changed a tire in quite a while, my arms had to work a little harder at it. “You look like you know what you’re doing,” Alec commented, now turned to face me. “Have you done this a lot?”

“Yeah, but it’s been a few years,” I started on the last lug nut, bracing my knee against the pavement. “This was not what I needed this afternoon.”

He hummed, “Got plans?”

“Not fun ones. You?”

“Eh, I’m meeting my new boss. Supposedly he lives around here. Have you heard of the Sunderlands?”

My hand slipped on the wrench and my knuckles hit the pavement, causing a sharp pain in my hand. I hissed as the wrench clattered to the ground. “Ow- fuck!” I retracted my hand with lightning speed, quick to examine it. “Goddamn it.”

“Oh- shit- are you okay?” Alec questioned, pushing away from the car in a startle. 

My hand shook violently as I looked it over. The skin over my knuckles was broken open, dirty and a bit bloodied from the scrapes. Grumbling, I reached for the wrench, “It’s fine.”

“Here, let me do it.”

“You just said you don’t know how to change a tire,” I pointed out, squinting up at him once more, this time my forehead creased even more from the frustration.

Alec took a step forward and mirrored my position in front of the tire, before reaching out to put his hand on the wrench. He didn’t take it—simply waited for me to give him permission. “Teach me,” he said, his tone back to being casual.

Being eye level now, I didn’t have to squint. I let go of the wrench as my features relaxed and he took it from my hand. “Just do what I did. The nut’s almost loose and then the tire can come off,” I instructed, leaning away a bit.

He nodded and started loosening the lug nut further. The scrapes on my knuckles burned violently. I held the hand to my chest after giving it a glance, checking for the heavy bleeding it felt like would be there, and cradled it with the other. There was a small first aid kit in the car that I could easily bandage my hand with, but I wanted to make sure the tire was changed correctly. So I stayed there while he pulled off the tire and let it lay against the pavement beside the car. I used my free hand to roll the spare toward him.

It wasn’t hard to get the spare on securely and lower the car. Briefly, I wondered if Alec did know something about changing tires or was simply a quick learner. He didn’t ask many questions—just did whatever I told him when I told it. I didn’t mind, though. When it was finally on, I pushed myself up to stand and Alec picked up the jack and wrench. 

“Thank you,” I told him, still clutching my hand to my chest. 

“Yeah, no problem. I’m glad I could help after all,” he replied, putting the tools back into the trunk. 

“You said Sunderland’s your new boss?” I questioned, a bit rhetorical. He nodded and I continued, “I’m headed that way...why don’t I save you the Uber?”

He immediately began shaking his head, turning away from the trunk to face me, “No, no- I don’t wanna trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble—like I said, I'm heading that way anyway.”

I took three steps backward and opened the side door, before reaching in to find the first aid kit. Secretly, I did want to know exactly what my father was hiring this man for. Dad was good at keeping his business moves quiet, even around the house. This was the perfect opportunity to snoop, to find out a little bit of what he’s doing in the swamp. It was something that piqued my interest since returning to Marais. 

“Um...alright,” I glanced in his direction just in time to see Alec give another shrug. “I’ll grab my bags.”

He turned and started walking toward the Toyota, still parked behind me. I turned back to face the inside of the vehicle and focused on bandaging my hand. It wasn’t too bad—just needed a little gauze and some tape. Of course, disinfecting it was always the first step. Each day I become more thankful I’d gotten into the habit of coming prepared when I was young. I taped the gauze strip to my knuckles and closed up the side door, just as Alec was putting a duffel and a small suitcase onto the backseat from the other side. 

After those, in came a shaggy dog. I paused for a moment, and my eyes squinted as I replayed the last few seconds in my mind. Was that actually a dog? Yes, it was. Shaking my head, I climbed into the driver's seat. “I wouldn’t make a habit of picking up strays,” Alec sarcastically warned, closing the passenger door as he slid onto the seat. 

A stoic chuckle pushed from my throat as I started the engine and put the car in drive. Years ago, that’s exactly what I did. My parents spent a fortune helping me keep the neighborhood cats around. There was only ever one dog. He was a cute retriever with missing posters around town. Dad drove me to give the dog back to its owners, and I still haven’t forgotten how that made me feel, seeing those people shed tears over reuniting with their lost family member.

Sighing, I relaxed against my seat. “Are you implying you haven’t had your shots?” I asked. I kept my eyes on the road even as we rolled across the bridge. My attempt to visit Shawna, even for a moment, had lost its appeal.

“Trust me, I’m fully vaccinated,” Alec responded, eyes glued to the view from his window. “So, uh, do you live in town or out on the swamp?”

“The swamp, mostly.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“I was born here. But I took a break for a few years.”

In my peripheral, the vague blur of him turned to look in my direction. “What brought you back?” he questioned, curiously. “If you don’t mind.”

Exhaling, I answered, “It was a family matter.”

"Family's important to you, then."

He said it like he was thinking out loud, making the deduction from how it'd been phrased. "What's left of it," I nodded, turning a corner. "So, who's your little friend back there?"

"Oh, sorry. I forgot to introduce you. That's Garou," he answered, wearing a cheeky but closed-mouthed smile.

"Garou? Like...the swamp dog?" a smile was threatening to tug up the corners of my lips at the thought.

In a sporadic glance, I saw Alec immediately stand at attention, perking up as if he, too, were a dog. He turned to face me in his seat, before asking, "What do you mean ‘swamp dog’?"

"Sorry- the Rougarou," I replied, keeping my eyes on the road as I shook my head at myself. “It was the boogeyman story old creeps would try to scare us with, and it freaked me out when I was little. So, my sister called it a swamp dog...I guess it kind of humanized it.”

It was obvious he was trying hard to force down a wide smile as he readjusted in his seat to sit forward again, "I knew I was going to like you." 

We drove the rest of the way to the Sunderland estate. I’d asked what his occupation was and, as it turned out, he was a biologist. A biologist here only to do some tests in the swamp and assure my father that everything was going well.

What exactly ‘everything’ was, I wasn’t sure. I supposed I'd just have to brave up and ask dad myself. I cut the engine after parking in front of the house. As I began to exit the vehicle, Alec took notice, quickly asking, “Whoa- uh...what are you doing?”

“Well, where I come from, you walk your guest to their door,” I smirked a little, only a ghost of an expression to show my words were satirical before closing my door.

Alec exited the car on his side and walked quickly to join me on the front steps. “I appreciate the chivalry,” he told me. “But it’s really not necessary.”

“Oh, good. You two have met,” the sound of my mother's voice not far away brought my eyes directly to the front door. I hadn’t heard it open, but there she stood in the doorway, a pleasant smile on her face as she greeted us. “Come on in. There’s a lot to discuss.”

As I reached the top of the stairs, mom walked forward and opened her arms before wrapping them around my torso, hugging me tightly. “It’s so good to see you, sweetheart,” she said, quietly.

“It’s good to see you, too, mom.”

It had only been a week or less since I last saw her. Briefly, I wondered if she’d already forgotten. But my eyes traveled to the right, to where Alec stood a few feet from the door, watching our hug with a slack jaw and knowing eyes. Then, I truly smirked. After a moment, mom pulled away and lead us both inside the house, closing the door behind us. Dad came to meet us at the door from the sitting room with a warm smile. “Becca, dear, how are you?” he asked me. “How was the drive?”

“Good,” I nodded, a lie in both respects.

He turned to Alec, holding out his hand for a shake. “It’s good to finally meet in person,” he told him, as Alec shook his hand. “You’ve already met my daughter, Rebecca. But this is my wife, Maria.” Dad introduced mom with a look of pride he didn’t possess until speaking her name. 

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Alec gave a polite smile and a small nod. “You’ve got a beautiful home.”

“So, what exactly are we discussing, dad?” I questioned, looking only at whom I was addressing. I could see his gears shifting from polite to business before he responded. It was eerie just how multi-faced that man was.

“I’m glad you asked, sweetheart,” he replied. “Holland’s going to be around a few months, doing some tests for me. He’s going to need a work space and I figured you wouldn’t mind sharing the lab for the time being.”

My heart sank. Though, my head knew that the way he spoke meant it was not up for debate. Fighting the change would only worsen his temper. It was hard to keep my hands from trembling just a little from that possibility. “Oh...alright,” I swallowed hard.

“I don’t wanna put anybody out,” Alec spoke up, eyes noticeably drifting over my face.

“No, no- it’s fine,” I shook my head, before flashing a tight-lipped smile. “It gets too quiet out there, anyway. The company will be nice.”

Still, his eyes lingered, but he didn’t push it. Dad clapped his hands together once, causing my feet to lurch my body up as my eyes snapped back to him, instantly standing at attention. “Alright, then. We can talk about more details of your employment over dinner,” he said.

“Actually- I’m sorry- I told Liz I’d go to Delroy’s tonight,” I stammered, desperate to hide my nerves. “I didn’t know you wanted me to stay...”

Dad looked a little disappointed but, to my pleasant surprise, he didn’t get angry. He didn’t act annoyed, didn’t raise his voice—simply gave a nod. “Oh...that’s alright. Maybe tomorrow night, then?”

I nodded quickly, “Yeah, yeah. Tomorrow’s fine.”

“What about you, Holland?” dad turned his eyes to Alec.

“Well, actually, she drove me here, so-” Alec began to reply.

Dad interrupted, confused, “Really? How’d that happen?”

Alec’s head turned, mouth hung open as he looked at me questioningly, ready to collaborate with whatever answer I came up with. It was clear to me why he did it, but I hadn’t expected it. Yet another surprise tonight. Inhaling, I moved my eyes from Alec’s to my father’s, preparing the story of my flat tire in an internal monologue. In my head, it was going great. I was confident. The words came out clear. Out loud, it sounded like I was trying to hide something. Like my nervousness was due to a lie. At least, that’s how it sounded in my own ears. 

“I had a flat, coming over the bridge, and he was nice enough to stop and...fix it,” I explained. “Figured I’d return the favor and give him a ride.”

“Well, that was very nice of him,” mom finally spoke for what seemed the first time during the group conversation, smiling kindly at both of us. “We don’t want to keep you—why don’t you get going so you’re not late meeting Liz? We’ll talk later.”

Internally, I thanked her more than I did aloud. And something about the look in her eyes told me that, somehow, she knew. So I said a quick goodbye to my parents and moved swiftly to the door. The nerves encroaching on my voice encouraged my feet to move faster. I didn’t wait for Alec—I couldn’t, so I kept going. He said his own goodbyes and caught up with me at the bottom of the stairs, where our paths diverted to opposite sides of the car. 

“You know, you might’ve mentioned you were Sunderland’s daughter,” Alec commented, pulling open his door.

My hand yanked open my door, before climbing in and clipping on my seatbelt, every move guided by rehearsal. I was not thinking of what I was doing—only escaping. “Yeah, well, I don’t owe you my personal information,” I snapped back. “I’ll tell you whatever I fucking want.”

Alec shut his door after settling into his seat, “Jesus christ. Is sharing a lab space really that offensive to you?”

“Where are you staying?” I questioned, intentionally ignoring the question, as I drove from the driveway. 

There was no immediate response. It caused me to glance in his direction sporadically from the road, eyebrows raised expectantly. He remained silent with an irritated but thoughtful expression, staring me down in response to my attitude. Sighing rather heavily, I reclined against my seat backing and readjusted my grip on the wheel. It was unfair to lash out, I know. But I couldn’t help it. It usually happened before I realized what I was saying, how I was acting, and by that point the damage was already done. Just like in this case. It caused a pang of guilt to settle into the pit of my stomach. 

“Do you have somewhere to stay?” I asked, easing into a more calm demeanor. “I...I have a spare room at my place, and it’s close to the lab. We can work something out. If you want.”

The sound of his exhale stood out sharply, my senses now overly aware of everything in the car, overcompensating for the lack of awareness just moments ago. “That’s alright. Like I said, I don’t wanna put anybody out,” he replied, defeatedly calm. 

“Really, it’s fine—the house isn’t even actually mine. The owners won’t mind. I won’t mind.”

Again, I glanced sporadically in his direction. It felt like I was pleading. Begging for him to take this offer as an apology for my behavior. Though my glances were sporadic, he looked back to me with a more steady gaze. 

He shrugged, giving a small shake of his head in an expression, “Alright. But Garou gets his own room."


	3. 2: delroy's after dark

When I walked into Delroy's, everything changed. It was like the atmosphere swallowed me whole into its bubble. The place was pretty busy but, then again, it usually was. I hadn't been inside in many years and yet it looked like not a day had gone by.

Delroy was behind the bar, serving drinks, but he stood upright and leaned back on his heels as his eyes found me at the door. "My, my," he said, walking to the end of the bar as I approached. "Look at you! Little Bee's all grown up."

"It's so good to see you, Delroy," I replied, a warm smile on my lips.

He held open his arms and I walked into them, eager to remember what being welcome felt like. "We've been missing you around here," he told me, mid bear hug. "I about shed a tear when I heard you'd come back to town."

I stepped away from the hug, tilting my head in an expression, "Aw, Delroy. I've missed being here."

"There she is!"

My head snapped to the right at the sound of Liz's voice, coming from not far down the bar. Sure enough, Liz was walking toward us, a bright smile on her face. She slung her arm around my shoulders, "You'll never guess who showed up."

"Goddammit, Liz," I cringed knowingly.

I knew she would get Matt to come here tonight, but I'd secretly hoped he would be too busy for me. Most of the men in my life are. Why would he be any different? Unfortunately, he was too different. "Hey, cheer up," Liz gave my shoulder a squeeze. "He doesn't bite. Although, I'm sure if you're into that-"

In a knee-jerk reaction, my elbow was sent into her ribs, and Delroy gave her a warning look. "Come on now, Liz," he said, before heading back behind the bar.

Liz pulled away from me to hold her side, "Okay, that actually hurt."

"I'm sorry," my nose wrinkled with guilt. "Too hard?"

"Little bit," she nodded. Her teeth clamped over her lower lip as she rubbed her side with one hand, but she motioned for me to walk with her as she took steps away. "I guess now we both need a drink."

I followed her ruefully. It would be nice to see Matt again on a basic friendship level. But I knew that was not why Liz wanted us to reconnect. Little did Liz know, there was no way I was dating again, no matter how much she wanted me to.

And there he was sitting at a table across from the bar. Unaware of me and Liz approaching, or the awkwardness he'd have to endure. He looked different. A lot different. Though, I suppose life had a habit of doing that to a person. He looked lean and broad shouldered, with crescents under his eyes from long-term stress, but his whole demeanor changed the moment he noticed us. Matt lit up like the neon signs on the walls.

"Look who decided to stop by," Liz said, as we approached the table.

I smiled politely but, internally, I was gut-wrenched with nerves. That's not usually the case when in social situations. But this was different. I already knew him and he already knew me. So what was so difficult about saying hi? "Hey, you made it," Matt happily greeted us, mainly looking at me. "Was wondering if you were actually going to come."

"And miss getting to reminisce about the old days? Not a chance," I shook my head, taking the seat opposite him. It was the one right next to Liz, with the easiest escape route.

Matt, smile bright, leaned forward into the table an inch, "You look good. You're a botanist now, right?"

"Thanks- yeah-" I bobbed my head, chuckling nervously. "I'm trying, anyway. I heard you're a deputy? How's that going?"

"Oh, you know. Kicking ass, taking names, runnin outta gum," he replied, casually, before taking a pull from a beer bottle. Some things never changed. He always did try to act like a badass.

Of course, now, he actually was. "Oh, Becca, I'll go get you a drink," Liz suddenly turned to me, then stood up from her chair. I wanted to tell her to stay, but a part of me was in shock from the thought of being left alone, and I said nothing.

Instead I acted natural, smiled and gave a small nod. I leaned back in my seat, locking my fingers together in my lap to hide the fact that I was terrified. "Where'd you go? After graduation?" Matt asked, curiously, as he set his bottle on the table.

I inhaled, "Um...well, I went to Berkeley and got a couple PhD's-"

"Wait- a couple? You have more than one?"

"Yes-" nervous chuckle. "-biology, botany, and plant science."

Matt stared at me dumbfounded for a moment, then he gave a robust laugh as he sat back. A smile pulled up his lips, but it looked like more than that, with a glimmer of pride. He was impressed. "Wow. You must really like the outdoors," he mused.

"Growing up in a place like this, who wouldn't?"

He nodded, "That's fair. So what does a woman with your credentials get up to?"

"Well, she gets a very promising research job in California," I smiled.

"Really? How long are you in town, then? Can't be too long, I would imagine."

"Yes and no. I'm continuing my research while I'm here, but I'm not sure when I'm going back," I answered, honestly. "Probably whenever they track me down and drag me to the lab."

He chuckled, understanding my humor even through the dryness from my nerves. I wasn't so nervous, but I was still uneasy. Finally, Liz returned to the table and sat a drink down in front of me. I recognized it almost instantly as whiskey.

My head tilted and I looked at her fondly. "You know me so well," I told her, as I picked up the glass. It wasn't something everyone knew about me, but I didn't find interest in drinking alcohol unless it was whiskey. Naturally I gravitated toward it and I never liked anything else.

Beer seemed pointless, what with how much you had to tolerate to feel anything. Wine was too sweet and made me nauseous just thinking about it. But whiskey never failed me. "How could I forget?" Liz commented, sipping on her own glass. "You only drink sweet tea and whiskey."

"Sweet tea and whiskey?" Matt questioned, an eyebrow risen in intrigue.

"I don't like soda so I drink tea, but I have to add a little sugar to it or it's too bitter. The whiskey is just for the aesthetic," I answered with a small smirk, before taking a drink.

Matt's eyes lingered on my face for a moment, a certain slanted smile on his own. I only noticed it when I put my glass down and, by then, he'd looked away toward the bar. But something about it made me anxious. The sudden uprise in additional nerves fought with the calming effect of the whiskey hitting my gut, wrestling for the dominant emotion. Why was he looking at me like that? What had I said? Did I drink funny? I tried not to dwell on it too much.

You'd think I never dated before. Or knew the first thing about romance. I guess being in one relationship for so long only dulls you to the effects of new love, new feelings. You get so used to feeling one thing that anything else is forgotten. I'd briefly wondered if the numbness was from the passing of time rather than the alcohol. We sat there and talked about life after high school and what it was like being back. Liz was in and out of our conversations as she was still on the clock.

It was inspiring to know that at least someone had a good enough relationship with their father to stay around them for so long, to want to help them despite their own needs. Though that inspiring tale only brought me a pinch of bitterness, thinking about my own father.

Matt decided to regale me with a story of his wild deputy adventures, and I listened intently to every detail. He and another deputy went to check on someone a bit out of town. No one had heard from her in days and a relative called the station.

When they went to the house, he told me, everything looked normal. He tried the door and it was unlocked, so he told the other deputy to check one of the out buildings and then proceeded to go inside. He barely got out the words to announce himself before someone fired a shotgun. "And when I looked," he said. "The bullet blasted off a good chunk of the door frame, right beside my head."

My eyes rounded, "How were you not shot?"

"I'm quick on my feet," he shrugged smugly, before taking a pull from his bottle.

"With a body like that, you'd have to be."

I'd said it so far under my breath that it was barely spoken at all. At least, that's what I'd thought. But there was something about the way Matt looked at me when his bottle touched the table—and I knew. Somehow over all the noise, he'd heard me.

The anxiety I'd lost throughout sitting at the table had suddenly come back all at once. When I left the house, I told Alec I'd be back around midnight at the latest. My eyes flicked down to my phone on the table and my index finger lit up the screen. I was late. "Something wrong?" Matt asked, as I stared at my phone on the table.

Shaking my head, I looked up, "No- no, it's just really late. I need to be getting home. Got an early morning in the lab tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah. It is pretty late, huh?" Matt said, pulling out his own cell phone to check.

"It was really nice catching up with you," I told him, as I pushed myself up to stand from my chair. "I'm sorry to cut it short."

Matt stood a second after I did, and he gestured toward the door. "Hey, that's alright. Why don't I walk you out?" he offered, casually.

I nodded, a small smile on my face, "Alright."

He pulled his jacket off his chair and tugged it on. Then I lead the way to the exit, but not before saying a quick goodbye to Liz and Delroy. I couldn't tell if I was leaving truly because I said I'd be home by midnight or if it was my anxiety jumping too soon. Either way, it was probably for the best. I did in fact need to get some sleep before the morning so I could work without falling asleep.

"We should get dinner while you're in town," Matt said, as we walked through the parking lot. "Finish catching up."

It was a little unexpected. I nodded with a smile regardless. "That would be great," I replied. Though, what he said almost sounded like a date. And I was not going to be dating anyone. So, if it comes to it, I'll simply lay down some ground rules. But I wasn't expecting much of anything. Finally, we reached my car, and we came to a stop by the driver side door.

"Thanks for walking me out," I said, turning my back to the car. "I'll call you and we can plan dinner sometime."

"Yeah, no problem. It was really good seeing you again. I meant it when I said you looked good, by the way," he gave a smiling smirk, a smooth look on his rugged features.

"Well, you're not so ugly yourself," I replied, with a small smile of my own.

Matt chuckled at my choice of words. But his silence settled in quickly and it only intensified the gleam to his eyes as they looked down at me. Of course, it was hard to make out much with such poor lighting. That's what I thought. Until he stepped forward. Subconsciously, I was dreading such an action, reading so far into it that my feet moved backward on their own. My shoulder blades bumped against the door of the car and it dawned on me that I had nowhere to go.

As his hands slid onto my cheeks, I was screaming internally, but at the same time I didn't want to move. I didn't want to pass up the opportunity to know what this felt like. What he felt like. So I let him touch my face and tilt my chin to make his lips fit with mine. I gave the whiskey a chance to take over and tell me what to do.

It wasn't a bad feeling, to be kissed by him. Not a bad feeling at all. I kissed him back as the whiskey asked and it invited him to open his mouth, deepening the kiss with lust as the front of his body pressed against mine. The whiskey fed into every second of it and I didn't mind not telling it no. It wasn't a rare occurrence, letting that tainted liquid decide my fate. There was a time not so long ago that it happened almost every night. Letting it in now felt like welcoming home an old friend.

But even still, I knew better than to expect something rather than ask for it. I couldn't let this go on without making my intentions known. If I didn't I'd only be hurting someone innocent later. So, I pulled away enough to speak, and spoke quickly, "Matt- I'm not looking for a relationship right now."

"Neither am I," he didn't hesitate to answer.

Part of me wondered if he'd only said that to make it easier to get what he wanted. But I told myself to stop thinking so negative, that not all men are like the one that hurt me. It didn't work as well as I'd hoped, but I took a deep breath. "Wanna get out of here?"

"Hell yeah."

* * *

I fumbled the key into the lock and turned the knob, straining to focus with palms against my abdomen and the heat of Matt's mouth on my neck. Finally I pushed open the door, and we shuffled through it, a kick to the wood closing it behind us. No one bothered to turn on the light. Though I'd been here for two months, I wasn't familiar with the layout enough not to run into the back of the couch just through the entrance.

Without Matt so close, I would've bounced right off of it. Instead, my backside hit the couch and the awkward situation turned into an opportunity, in which Matt hefted me up onto the backing of the couch for a better height. Our lips melted together in sloppy, hurried kisses while our hands fumbled with the zippers of our jackets. His hit the floor and mine draped over the couch.

"Holy fuck- oh my god- um-"

A third voice sputtered behind me, and I couldn't help lurching in surprise. I lurched so hard that my feet landed on the floor, and I spun around only to find the living room lights turned on, accompanied by a wide-eyed Alec Holland. "Jesus christ, why aren't you sleeping?!" I questioned, my voice rising with horror.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing!" he raised his voice as well, and it sounded like it was for the same reason. "Don't you have a bedroom you can do that in?"

It was then that Garou bounded from the guest room door, left hanging open, and he began to bark when he saw me and Matt. At this point, I knew the moment had passed. There was no way resuming this wouldn't be awkward as fuck. And I did have to be up early tomorrow morning. I took in a deep breath and swivelled on my heel to face Matt. He looked puzzled and a bit embarrassed and for that I felt a pang of guilt. But I carried on like I didn't notice.

"Maybe you should-"

"Go, yeah," Matt nodded, quickly agreeing. He picked up his jacket and stepped toward the door. As he opened it, he looked back at me. "I still want that dinner."

"I guess you'll have to call me tomorrow, then," I smirked a little.

His own kind of smirk pulled up the corners of his mouth before he slipped through the door, pulling it closed behind him. Finally, I let out the deep breath I'd taken in before speaking, and I turned around to face Alec. He, too, looked a little guilty. "I'm sorry- I didn't mean to screw things up," he apologized, before pulling a pair of headphones over his head from around his neck. I hadn't noticed they were there before, but it made sense now why he would walk in on us at all.

There was no way he could've heard us with music blasting in his ears. That knowledge helped me feel a little less annoyed by the situation. It made it easier to be calm. "No, no- it's fine," I shook my head, grabbing my jacket off the couch. "I need to sleep."

"Early day tomorrow?" he asked, curious.

Nodding, I answered, "I'm going out by South Landing to take notes."

"I don't know where that is."

I sighed as I walked by him to trudge to my room. Maybe that was a good thing? I wanted to say. But instead I kept my mouth shut. My hand instinctively reached down and gave Garou a quick pat when I passed him.

As I reached my room, I heard a, "Goodnight."

My hand reached around the door frame for the light switch, flicking on the overhead light in my room, as I craned my neck to look back at Alec. "Goodnight," I replied, with an exhale. Then I stepped into the room and nudged the door closed with my heel.

* * *

I was up earlier than usual that morning. My chest was a cinder block of guilt before my toes touched the icy wood flooring, and I carried the weight of it into the shower. This was something I learned. A therapist told me that in my sophomore year of college, when I finally decided to try getting some help. She said this kind of behavior was learned, from many years of living with someone like my father.

People like him provoke all kinds of negative emotions and then manipulate you into believing it's your fault, making you feel guilt for a simple human reaction. Voicing your pain, anger, and fear is seen as something sinful. They make you feel like it's dangerous to be yourself.

I didn't know how much of what she told me I believed at the time, but it made more sense the longer I spent in Marais. Our interaction just yesterday was proof enough. After I spent some time under the running water, I got dressed and pattered on my bare feet to the kitchen. There was no sound from Alec's room as I passed the door.

Of course, I didn't know if I should expect to hear something anyway. Maybe he was a night owl, instead of an early riser like me? I'd met a few botanists who did their best work after hours so it wasn't too outlandish a thought. I tried to be as quiet as I could in the kitchen, careful with the cabinets and refrigerator door, the loudest sound being the clicking and hiss of the propane when I turned on a stove burner.

I cracked eggs into a small pan and tossed the shells in the garbage, then sprinkled pepper and salt on the sizzling food. Thanks to childhood habits, I really only ate the stereotypical breakfast foods in the morning. If I was at a rough spot financially I would eat whatever was available. But if I had a choice, I would always go for something like eggs, toast, or pancakes.

Breakfast and dinner were the only two times during the day the whole family got together during the school week. Those were also the most stressful times. But that came with the territory of getting mom and dad in the same room for longer than ten minutes. The click of a doorknob and whine of hinges caught my attention, a second before a harsh thud.

Garou appeared, then, trotting into the kitchen from the living room, and it wasn't hard to deduce what had happened. "Hey, boy," I whispered, bending down to scratch the top of his head. "Your human wanted to sleep in, huh?"

The hairy thing looked up at me with glossy eyes and his jaw hanging open, wide tongue hanging out as he panted softly. I knew he could smell the eggs. So, I righted myself and plucked a piece of fully cooked egg, before blowing on it a bit. Once it felt cool enough, I held it out for the dog. Garou hopped up to stand on his hind legs, following my hand with his nose before it was low enough for him to reach regardless.

He was careful when taking it, using his tongue until he could get it in his mouth and chew quickly. I huffed a quiet chuckle and wiped my hand off on my jeans. I'd made enough eggs so that Alec could eat if he ever showed his face before noon. Of course, it was only eight o'clock in the morning. The next thing I did was start the coffee maker.

Once the pan was freed up, the cooked eggs now sitting in neat piles on two plates, I dug into the fridge and retrieved the package of bacon I knew was inside. The strips went into the pan and they crackled like a fireplace. What with the sound and the potent smell, there was no way my new roommate would last holding up in his room for long.

I turned the bacon over strip-by-strip, letting them cook the rest of the way on the other side, and looked down at Garou. He was sitting pretty in his attempt to gain more food from me. But I only made a pouty face and kept the bacon in the pan, causing him to become impatient, pawing at my leg with a small whimper.

Another thud caught my attention, this time causing me to startle. Alec shuffled into the kitchen doorway in a clingy t-shirt and baggy pajama pants, hair disheveled and eyes squinted against the light from the kitchen windows. He stared at me in silence a moment before speaking. "When did you get up?" he asked.

The half-asleep nature of his appearance was almost cute, an observation that pulled a loose chuckle from my chest as I turned to the stove. "After seven," I answered, poking the bacon with a pair of metal tongs.

"You're a morning person. Noted."

Inhaling, I glanced at him, "Breakfast is almost ready, so long as you like eggs."

His eyes flicked to the left, and he blinked. Like he just noticed I was cooking. "And you made breakfast. Is this some kind of inn and I just missed the sign?" he asked, turning to jutt a thumb over his shoulder. Though he was on the tail end of waking up, his lips still turned up in a grin.

"Don't get used to it," I rolled my eyes, before moving the bacon to the plates. "There's orange juice in the fridge, or there's coffee in the pot."

"Alright. Thanks."

He shuffled out of eyesight, toward the refrigerator and dish cabinets, and I put the pan and tongs back on the stove. With a flick of my wrist, I turned off the burner, then I carried my plate to the dining table. Garou followed me, his nails tapping on the wood as he trotted along at my heels.

The sound of running liquid mixed with Alec's scoff from the kitchen. "Hey, Garou, give the girl some space, will you? Jesus," he chided his dog. I slid into my chair and reached down to pet Garou. He continued to stare at me, back end dropping to the floor to sit, so I stuck my tongue out at him. As I did, his head cocked and his ears perked up.

It was cute and rather hilarious, so I laughed, before reaching down to fluff up the hair on either side of his neck. "You're just a little goofball, aren't you?" I said, razzing him.

Alec finally came to sit at the table, placing a steaming mug in front of my plate before taking his seat. He shook his head as he looked down at the dog, "No manners."

I sat up and scooted in my chair a bit, then picked up the mug. "Thanks," I told Alec, gesturing with it before taking a long drink. When I was in the kitchen, I didn't really think to get myself something to drink. It was a miracle I made food for myself.

"No problem," Alec nodded once. "So, uh, when do you usually get out to the lab?"

"I try to be there by ten. If you're ready by then, I can show you where it is, help you get set up."

The offer was spur of the moment, setting my mug back down. If anyone was looking closely enough, they'd see my hand's ever-so-slight shake as I picked up my fork, pushing through my pile of eggs. Guilt, guilt, guilt. You made a scene last night so you made him breakfast. It was incredibly awkward and you were too quick to escape so you offered to help move him into your lab space to smooth things over. It refused to stop.

"Yeah, that would be great. Thank you," he replied, and I nodded once as he did moments before. All I could do was sit there for the remainder of breakfast and pray to whatever god was listening that it was silent. Or else, who knows what would come tumbling out of my mouth?


	4. 3: her mother's keeper

"Are you sure you've got time for all of this?" mom asked, giving me an unsure look from the top of the stairs. Her tone was airy, tired. I knew she thought me spending time with her was taking me away from my work, and she felt guilty.

I tilted my head, climbing the staircase with a paper bag in each arm, "Of course. The swamp isn't going to grow legs and walk away. It'll be there tomorrow morning."

"You always did have a way with words."

She smiled warmly at me as I arrived at the top, before reaching to open the front door. Avery called me last night, asking for ideas on how to get mom either out of Shawna's room or simply out of the house, and this was all I could think of that she would agree to. Cooking was something she always enjoyed. But baking was what she loved.

So, I went to the grocery store on the way over and got everything we needed to make a couple pies. My eyes flicked up the stairs the second I stepped inside the house. It was a knee-jerk reaction. The last time I was here for longer than five minutes, I saw my dead sister in a mirror. Mom was unaware of my unease, closing the door and leading the way to the kitchen, but I proceeded with caution.

I loved Shawna more than I could put into words. Though, I didn't want to see her like that. In pictures and memories was where she needed to stay. A feeling of unease was normal for this old house so I tried my best to let it go for the time being. My mother needed me—that was more important, wasn't it?

Taking a deep breath, I set the bags I carried down on the countertop opposite the stove. Mom fidgeted with the positioning of the various baking tools she'd put on the counter, "I wasn't sure what you had in mind, so...I got out a few things."

The baking pans were among the things she got out so, luckily for me, I didn't need to stand on my head to get into the bottom cabinets. "Yeah, that's great. Looks like everything's here," I smiled at her, and she looked relieved. "I thought we could make some pies. But I got cupcake liners in case you didn't feel like cutting apples."

"Oh, alright. Actually, a pie sounds really nice," she said.

"Okay, we'll do that then. Do you wanna cut or peel? I can do either."

"Cutting is fine."

I bobbed my head in a nod and dug into one of the bags for the apples I bought. It was hard to ignore how distant, almost half-asleep she seemed. Her actions and words were just sluggish enough to be noticeable. It made me wonder if she was even sleeping at all, as I carried the apples to the sink to wash them. Her health had always been concerning but, when I was living with her, it was impossible to get close enough to her to help.

Now, it felt like she'd forgotten all about our last in-person conversation before I left for college. It felt like maybe I could actually get her the help she needed. This was only a start, but it was promising. Mom placed a cutting board and knife on the counter, setting a knife for me to peel with beside the two, before taking a seat behind the counter.

She was quiet while I ran the sink, rinsing each apple individually and placing them in a bowl. Then I turned off the sink and brought the apples to the other counter, facing her, and she spoke up. "We haven't gotten to talk much since you came home," she said, and I paused to listen. "Last I heard, things were going well for you in California. Has that changed?"

I shook my head and grabbed the peeling knife, "No, it's still really good."

"That's good. How have you been, since…"

She trailed off as she searched for a way to phrase it, but I knew what she wanted to ask. _How have you been, since your life fell apart a second time?_ "I take it day by day," I answered her, gently. "Some days I think about it a lot, others...not so much."

To an outside eye, she would appear simply as being a concerned mother wanting to know how her child has been while away. But I knew what she was doing. She was fishing. It was what she did after Shawna died. Mom would ask questions and if my responses weren't what she thought they should be, she would accuse me of not caring as much as she did.

Somehow, it gave her a sense of deranged entitlement. She deserved to grieve more than the rest of us because, to her, no one could ever have lost her like she did. Here, now, I continued peeling apples without giving her a second glance. If it was truly what it sounded like, I wanted nothing to do with it. And it seemed like she got the message.

She sat up a little on the stool and exhaled. "Are you enjoying getting to work at your dream job here, at home?" she asked, changing the subject with a more light-hearted tone.

I nodded again, "Mm hm. It's growing on me."

"I'm sorry you have to share the lab. I told your father you deserved your own space but, well—you know how he is."

"It's alright, mom. I really don't mind."

Once I had one or two peeled, mom joined me at the counter to start cutting. As focused as she seemed on cutting up the apples, she sporadically glanced at me in my peripheral, continuing her line of questioning. "Do you and your new lab partner get along at least?" she asked.

"For the most part. His dog's a real sweetheart-"

"Aren't you allergic to dogs?"

"Guinea pigs," I corrected her. "Remember, Shawna brought that long-haired one home and she guilted dad into letting her keep it—but I tried to pet it and my eyes swelled up?"

Mom didn't miss a beat, cutting away, "Oh...that's right. She named it Bugsby."

"Yeah, Abby said it had bug-eyes so she wanted a name with 'bug' in it."

"Do you still talk to her?"

Once again, she didn't stop cutting, but the question gave me pause. For a brief moment, I wasn't sure if she meant Abby or Shawna. I could only assume she meant Abby—the only contact of the two I would entertain. Even still, it heightened the unease naturally occurring here. "I did, for a while," I answered, quietly. "But we fell out of touch."

She fell silent. Abby Arcane was somehow always a point of contention. I was there that night, all those years ago, when mom yelled all kinds of ugly things at her—with no rebuttal from dad, even though he knew mom was in the wrong. Of course, neither parent knew I was downstairs. They'd told me to wait in my room while they talked to her. But it didn't make sense to me why they needed to be alone with her.

Once I heard all that venom mom had to spew, I knew why. Now, mom quietly cut apples at the mention of her name while I peeled the last one. "Did you finally come to your senses?" she questioned, bitter, when I finished.

Taken aback, I put down the knife in hand and turned to her with a knitted brow, "Why do you _insist_ on going there every time we talk? We were childhood friends, mom. She's going to come up in conversation-"

"You know what she did, Rebecca."

Anger welled up in my chest. I wanted to challenge her, I wanted to argue. Instead, I stayed silent, going to the refrigerator for ingredients. There was no point in continuing to engage in a conversation I wanted nothing to do with. But the familiar topic and tones associated with it made me feel anxious. It was like being right back in the study. Our last argument before I finally gave up and stopped talking to her altogether.

She had to know what she was doing, steering us in this direction when the whole point of me coming over was to spend time with her. Quality mother-daughter time she needed in order to pull herself out of Shawna's room. Either way, it was clear she wasn't going to let it go when she continued to talk.

"I never understood how you could defend her so easily," she said, her eyes on her knife as I turned to see her from the fridge. "Of course, you _were_ only a child. There's no way you could possibly understand what she'd done—but here you are, a grown woman, still defending the girl that killed your sister."

That was it—the last straw. My hands trembled as they shut the refrigerator door, hard. "What would Shawna think of you pinning her death on her best friend?" I raised my voice, but I wasn't quite shouting just yet.

Mom looked at me then, stopped dead in her tracks, eyes rounded with shock and anger. "How dare you," she spat at me.

"How dare I? How dare _you_ ," I took a step forward, jabbing a shaking finger in her direction. My voice trembled to match it and my throat was burning, threatening to make me cry, but I refused to let up. "You're so fucking selfish, wallowing around—still only giving a damn about yourself. You lost a child and that fucking sucks, but I lost her, too! We all did! And even now, _you don't care_."

It was during my spiel that the echo of the front door closing came to my attention. Avery stepped into the kitchen doorway behind mom with a concerned expression, looking quickly between the two of us as I finished. "What's going on in here?" he asked, cautiously.

In a sudden flash of movement, mom lunged forward, and the palm of her hand collided with my left cheek. The hit wasn't incredibly hard, but it was enough to force my head to turn. "Whoa, whoa- hold on a minute now," Avery rushed into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around mom to pull her away from me. "That's enough, Maria."

"Get out! Get _out_!" mom was outright yelling, pulling against his arms as if she would do more to me given the chance.

My cheek stung and water was filling my eyes—and I'd had enough. It was a jab to my pride to do as told and walk away. But staying wasn't something I wanted to do anyway. With a small nod and not another word, I walked around the counter and through the other archway to get around them and leave the kitchen.

I could hear Avery calling after me, begging me to wait, to give him a chance to make it right. Even still, I kept walking, right out the front door and down the steps. My boots hit the gravel of the driveway and I heard the front door open and shut. "Rebecca, honey, please come inside," it was Avery. "This is just a misunderstanding, alright? We can talk about this."

I'd reached my car before he finished, yanking open the door, and looking up at him where he stood at the top of the stairs. Not even putting in the effort to walk down them. "Fuck you," I said the words loudly, making sure he could hear them, before I climbed into the driver's seat and pulled my door closed.

He continued to stand there, watching me as I started the engine and pulled out of the driveway. It wasn't until I was on the road that I felt the weight of what had just happened. Pressure was residing between my eyes, and my throat still burned, a lump there making it hard to swallow. My fingers clamped down tightly around the steering wheel and I took a deep breath.

My mother's anger was nothing new. Growing up, there were many opportunities to see her unbridled rage, and there were many times it was directed at me. Maybe it was too much, too soon to say what I said—but it was all true. Shawna would be disgusted with her, not only for blaming Abby but for everything she'd done since that day. Avery wanted me to help her, and a wake up call was all I could deliver today.

There wasn't much I could do other than go to the house and try to calm myself down. It was still daylight, so I wouldn't need to worry about Alec getting back from the lab for a little while, which meant there was some quiet time left in the day. So, I did just that. I parked the car in the small driveway and dug for my key as I walked up the steps to the front porch.

My fingers still trembled, jangling the various things hanging from my key ring when I pulled it from my pocket. I couldn't tell if it was because of the anger or the fear of being right back where I was at fourteen. Blinking to release the water built up in my eyes, I turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door, shuffling inside and closing it behind me with a nudge of my heel. There were a few things I knew I could do to feel better.

I'd spent years working out a system with my therapist. Though I only had half a mind to focus on the tasks, I did my best to complete them. The first was a breathing technique to slow my heart rate a bit so I didn't hyperventilate like I had in years prior. Then, I went to the bathroom and ran a hot bath. It helped to burn an essential oil candle infused with lavender. I liked the smell, and it was calming.

But I made the mistake of looking in the mirror. There was a pink, slightly risen shape on my skin, and the sting had dulled to an ache. Seeing it there on my cheek caused my lower lip to tremble, the burn in my throat almost unbearable. It was then that I finally cried. The anger, the fear, the hurt—it poured out of me with a strangled sob, and I braced myself against the counter.

_How did I convince myself that it was a good thing I came back?_

* * *

It was nine o'clock when I heard the front door open. My eyes went straight from the pages of _A Mysterious Affair at Styles_ to the clock beside my bed as the sound echoed through the house. "Becca?" Alec's voice came next.

With an exhale, I called back, "I'm in here."

A second after I spoke, I heard the jingling of a collar, and then a golden blur whizzed across my vision as Garou bounded onto my bed. He'd run straight from the living room into my room without stopping. Despite my day, the action caused me to laugh. I closed my book and set it on the nightstand before reaching to pet the dog.

"Hey, buddy. How was your day, hm?" I asked him, ruffling up his hair as his tail wagged viciously. "Hope it was better than mine."

Garou dropped his body beside me, rolling onto his back and flopping his head into my lap, prompting me to scratch his stomach—and I did, with a series of much needed giggles. Alec stepped into the doorway then, leaning into the door frame as he slid his hands into his pockets. "He sure does like _you_ , doesn't he?" he commented, with a small, tired smile.

"Statistically, at least someone has to. I'm happy it's a dog."

He made a sound that was a mixture of a chuckle and a pfft, pushing off the door frame with a shake of his head. "Well, I'm making dinner," he said. "You know, if...you're into that sorta thing."

The announcement was surprising. But my mind quickly caught up with it, and guilt settled into my throat. "Oh, no- you don't have to do that," I hastily protested.

Alec aimed a finger at me, "I'm making dinner for you and you're going to like it."

He sidestepped from the doorway and Garou bounded off the bed to follow him, leaving me alone to shake my head. But it was only for a second. Alec slid back into view from the doorway, causing me to raise an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, that wasn't supposed to sound so forceful- you don't _have_ to eat it-"

It was then that I laughed—really laughed. "Of course i'll eat it, you dork," I slid off the bed and gave his shoulder a shove. "What's on the menu?"

We started for the kitchen, where Garou was already sniffing around for scraps. I spied bags on the counter before even stepping foot in the room. Alec started unpacking them as I pulled a glass from the cupboard, grabbing the bottle of Jack from the counter across the room. "Despite a few hiccups, you've been very welcoming," he said, his tone sarcastic in nature. "So, for you, I am preparing my best dish."

"Ooh, your best dish," I repeated, feigning drama.

He chuckled once, brief and airy, "Yes. And by best, I mean the only one I execute without setting the kitchen on fire—chicken stir fry."

I pulled a chair up to the doorway connecting the dining room to the kitchen and dropped my body into it, then filled my glass with whiskey. "Well, this should be entertaining, then."

It was entertaining, but for different reasons. Garou sat at my feet and watched intently as Alec chopped vegetables on the little island, narrating his every move like it was a show on Food Network, and I drank while I watched with humored enthusiasm. He didn't do a very bad job. From how he spoke about his cooking, I expected the worst. I expected a mess.

Instead, Alec was clean, precise, and used common sense. "So, you went to Berkeley?" he was rhetorical, vigorously stirring the contents of a pan on the stovetop. I'd almost forgotten what hoodie I was wearing. I bought it freshman year at the behest of my roommate.

Nodding, I sat back in my chair, "Yeah."

"Why California?"

"It was the best option for what I wanted that was the farthest away from here."

"No offense to the people that like it here, but I completely understand why you'd wanna get out," Alec said, finally turning to look at me. He leaned his lower back against the counter beside the stove, loosely crossing his arms, and I took a drink.

"Don't get me wrong, I do love the swamp. It's dank and it's dirty and at night, it's downright terrifying. But there's something about it that's always felt magical to me," I tilted my head, slumping in my chair as I thought. "I just don't know if it's worth the people attached to it yet."

He nodded, almost in thought. Though he couldn't have possibly, it felt like he understood the sentiment of what I was saying—and it felt strangely _good_ , for someone to hear what I said and not only care, but understand. It seemed like a rarity since returning to Marais. And it was something I dearly missed from my life in California.

But quickly, something about his appearance shifted. His eyebrows lowered, eyes on my face but not quite, and I sat up a little. There was confusion and concern painted equally on his face and I was almost too scared to ask. "What?" I questioned him, just as confused.

"What happened to your face? The left side is all red—did you get hurt?"

The concern came through almost overwhelmingly in his voice and, internally, I started to squirm. What was worse than behaving badly and feeling guilty, was the kind of guilt I received when I made my problems someone else's business. When I was given the same softened, empathetic look he was giving me right now.

So, I poured more whiskey in my glass to give my eyes a distraction, and answered nonchalantly, "I tripped on the stairs out front. Faceplanted."

"Jesus. Are you okay?" he asked, pushing off the counter.

Shaking my head, I waved it away. "I'm fine, it's just gonna be red for a bit," I replied, before taking another drink. "I took ibuprofen earlier and now I'm drinking, so...it's all good."

He didn't look as thoroughly convinced as I wished he would. But he turned his back to me, checking the stove contents again, and I exhaled a shaky breath into my whiskey. My mind echoed the advice of therapy but my chest constricted with guilt. Why? I lied. Even though I didn't know this man well enough to get personal, I was still punished for the act.

The things my body made me feel simply for existing sometimes made me sick. Most times, I just wanted to scream. It wasn't much longer before Alec had finished his culinary masterpiece and was loading it into bowls. I put my chair back at the table and Garou ran to catch anything that might fall on the floor. "Want a drink?" I asked, as I came back into the kitchen.

Alec glanced over his shoulder at me before answering, "Yeah, sure. Thanks."

I nodded and took down a second glass, then filled both. It wasn't every night that I drank like this. Most nights, I tried to stay away from the alcohol. Working while drunk wasn't exactly profitable for me or the company that hired me. But I decided, after the day I had, I deserved a mental break. Tomorrow would be different.

Maybe Avery would call me, show up at my door even, and try to reconcile—but that was tomorrow. Maybe I won't feel so jaded and actually want to make up with my mother—but that was tomorrow, too. It might even be next week. I tried not to think about it, swallowing my pride with whiskey.

"Alright," Alec said, putting the dishes on the table with silverware while I brought out the drinks. "Bon appétit." He slid into his chair and I set his glass down by his plate on my way to mine, to which he thanked me.

" _I_ should be thanking _you_ —this looks delicious," I gave him a look, sitting down in front of my plate.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say the man actually blushed. His smile was grinning but his demeanor was nervous, keeping his head down, eyes always somewhere else. It was almost as cute as the head-tilt Garou did when I stuck my tongue out at him. For a second, I sat quietly, narrowing my eyes at myself and my own choice of thoughts.

Was I comparing a competent biologist to a dog? Was I that affected by the alcohol already? Shaking my head at myself, I picked up my fork and began to eat. There was no reason to dwell on it. I would simply do better. Once I started eating, I couldn't stop—and there was no way to tell if it was the excellent flavors or the fact I hadn't eaten for most of the day.

But I slouched in my chair, making an ungodly sound of pleasure. "Oh my god, Alec…" I stared at him across the table with a mixture of bewilderment and contentment. Alec finally looked at me, surprised but visibly worried. I continued, jabbing my fork toward my bowl, "This is _amazing_."

A string of chuckles escaped him as he sat back in his chair. "Becca, are you drunk?" he asked, with a slanted smile.

Shaking my head, I wrinkled my nose, "Um, no?"

"That's exactly what a drunk person would say."

"Tipsy, yes—drunk, no," I told him, continuing to eat. "I'm literally just an impressed, hungry bitch."

"Uh, well, thank you. I don't think you're a bitch, though," he gave a shake of his head, looking away from me. I paused for a moment, eyeing him sideways, waiting for a worse name to come out. But it never did.

* * *

A series of harsh thuds was followed by a loud bark I knew belonged to Garou even in my half-asleep state. My head felt heavy as I tried to sit up, twisting to look at the clock. Eight o'clock in the morning. Why did it feel so much earlier? Why was Garou barking so loud? I grimaced, pushing off the comforter.

The thuds repeated themselves when I stood up, and I realized it wasn't a random thud—it was a knock at the front door. I couldn't wrap my brain around who would possibly knock on my door so early in the morning. Liz was an early riser but she wouldn't come here like this unless there was an emergency. Matt didn't even know my address. That left only one person.

Internally grumbling, I hurried into the living room, finding Garou before attempting the door. "Hey, hey, hey," I whispered an urgent voice, grabbing onto his collar to get his attention. "Quiet, buddy. I got it from here, okay?"

He sat under the hold on his collar, but his barking turned into a deep-seated growl from his chest, and he dropped to the floor to lay down when I let go. Sighing heavily, I finally made it to the door. As I pulled it open, I tried to brace myself for the final and worst option, but there was no preparing for the cold features of my father's face.

Something about him looked sinnister that morning—standing on the front porch in a blazer, clearly trying to cover up some impatience with another forced smile. It was in the creases of his eyes, how the emotion there never quite matched up. "Good morning," he greeted me. "I, uh...hope I didn't wake you up."

I kept hold of the door, subconsciously hoping for a reason to close it as I lied through my teeth, "I was already up."

"Good, good. Listen, I was hoping to catch you before you left for the day. I was thinking we might talk about a few things, if you have a minute."

My eyes drifted over my shoulder, landing on Alec's closed door. There was no sound from inside once again. Though, I wasn't sure for how long that would last. But I knew Avery wasn't really asking—no, we were _going_ to talk, whether I actually had time to spare or not. There was no point in trying to refuse him, as I knew he would simply find another way to demand it.

So, I shuffled back a step and pulled open the door, lazily gesturing inside. "Alright. I don't have much time, though," I told him. "Want coffee?"

"Oh, sure, that would be great," he nodded once, still smiling as he walked inside.

I fought to keep my eyes from rolling back into my head as I closed the door, then pattered into the kitchen to start the coffee maker. Avery wandered through the living room a bit before moseying into the kitchen as well. It felt like he was casing, scoping it out, judging what kind of dump his daughter was living in. It grated against my nerves, pulling down a pair of mugs. "What did you want to talk about?" I asked, daring myself not to sound how I felt.

"Well...as I'm sure you remember, you and your mother had an argument yesterday afternoon...said a few things you didn't mean."

"She meant every word."

"Now, Becca, you know the kind of state your mother's in," he rushed to the defense as I turned around to face him. "She's not thinking right. But she needs us now more than ever."

Sighing, I leaned back against the counter with folded arms, "How long has it been, dad? Almost fourteen years? She's sleeping in Shawna's room and mourning like it just happened. It's not healthy, and allowing her to keep doing this is _not_ helping her. We're enablers."

A small beep brought my attention back to the coffee maker, turning back around to fill up the mugs. Avery's face held an expression of indecision. He knew I was right, but I knew better than anyone that there was no way he could bring himself to say it. Not when it came to mom.

He sighed tiredly and I held out one of the mugs. The second after he took it, I was back to leaning against the counter, blowing the steam that radiated off the top of my mug. It was then I heard a noise—a soft thud, mixed with shuffling on the wood flooring. Garou trotted into the kitchen and looked up at me expectantly, to which I held up my hands and looked down at him with a dramatised expression. "What? What do you want?" I asked him.

I heard Avery huff a chuckle, "Where'd you find this hairy fella?"

"Oh, he's not mine-"

I'd cut myself off when movement caught my eye, just as Alec arrived at the kitchen doorway in his trademark pajama pants. It was beginning to seem like he only owned that one pair. Though he was groggy looking, he stood at attention when his eyes landed on Avery. "Uh- good morning, Mr. Sunderland," he greeted him, a bit hesitant in his surprise.

"Please...call me Avery," Avery smiled pleasantly, but his eyes shifted from Alec back to me, and I felt the weight of their ice. To me, he said, "I know you have work to do, so I'll get out of your hair. But I wanted to apologize on behalf of your mother. We both know she didn't mean to hit you—and it hurts her to know it went that far. Don't give up on her just yet, alright?"

I hadn't expected him to say it out loud, especially not in front of an outsider. Avery Sunderland would be the last to air out family drama. It felt personal, it felt intentional—it felt like punishment. After all, what else could he assume from Alec being at my place of residence so early—in his pajamas, no less—than some kind of coitous? Clenching my jaw shut, I nodded once.

Avery returned the nod, before putting his mug on the island in front of him, "I'll see myself out, then. It's good seeing you both."

He purposed to walk through the living room entrance, sidestepping past Alec. "Um, yeah- you, too," Alec said, whole demeanor radiating confusion. I kept my eyes on the island, recrossing my arms, waiting quietly until I heard the front door thud shut. "What was that about?"

"A manipulative asshole trying to tug on the leash," I mumbled, bringing my mug to my lips to take a drink. Now more than ever, I needed coffee if I was going to get through today, what with its sub-par start. If the swirling in my gut got any worse, I would need something stronger.

"He said your mom hit you- is that how you got that red mark?"

The gentle concern in his voice was begging me to come clean, but I doubled-down on my original lie, only reinforcing the unrest in my stomach. "No," I shook my head, feigning confidence. "I fell, like I said. She didn't hit me that hard."

And there it was. The last excuse I would make for her. I decided, then, I would be stopping at Delroy's before going to the lab for the day. If there was one person who knew why my mother was behaving this way, it would be Xanadu.


End file.
